This Disaster
by thisisawittypenname
Summary: NS pairing, with a heaping dose of GS angst. Grissom needs to learn to deal. Complete
1. Disaster

Title: This Disaster

Disclaimer: If you can buy CSI for the five pennies in my pocket, check back tomorrow. If it costs a bit more, then it will never be mine.

Spoilers: Indirect references to some of the relationship bumps up to about season 4, I think. Nothing major. More like this takes place sometime during/after the fourth season.

A/N: I was determined to see how much angst I could fit into one piece without wanting to rip it up. An hour and one Hershey's bar later, this is what came out. Hope you like it.

The first time he'd seen them, together, that is, he imagined the expression on his face was reminiscent of a startled deer caught in blinding headlights. Or like that of a child whose best friend calls him "four-eyes" in front of a crush. Or perhaps a mixture of both, accompanied by a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't remember precisely, he mind was too busy trying to shift emotional gears, but he was almost certain his jaw dropped. Never before had Gil Grissom felt like someone had sucker-punched him, knocking the wind out of his body, leaving him gasping like a fish out of water.

Sara.

And Nick.

Together?

It certainly had seemed like it, as hard as it was for him to completely comprehend what was going on. That first time, they hadn't even seen him; Grissom had a sneaky suspicion that Sara and Nick might not have noticed him even if he'd been only inches away. He'd sighed; they looked thoroughly occupied with each other to even think that they were in the break room, visible to any lab personnel who happened to walk by. Including him.

Nick had Sara pinned against one of the large glass windows, his body pressed firmly against hers. Pressed almost as firmly as their lips were; devouring each other's in a kiss so passionate it made Grissom want to avert his gaze.

But he didn't. He couldn't. Some sadistic, twisted part of him kept Grissom from tearing his eyes away from them, instead forcing Grissom to watch; to commit to memory the way Nick's fingers splayed out on the glass, leaving handprints where he pushed against it for support as he smiled against Sara's lips. Or the was she clutched fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him so close to her that it seemed inhumanly possible to conceive there was so much as a single air molecule between the two of them. Or the way that during the few, and brief, moments when they pulled apart for air, Nick looked at her. Really looked at her; tousled ringlets of dark copper hair and flushed expression; his eyes smoky with lust.

And Grissom, for his part, had just walked away after what seemed like an eternity, feeling thoroughly miserable for himself, and thoroughly jealous of Nick.

Even with soft strains of Bach floating through his living room that night, Grissom heard only silence that screamed volumes at him, shattered sporadically as he remembered the way Sara had moaned when Nick deepened the kiss.

This was going to haunt him. He could tell.

And although, lying in his bed later on, he'd closed his eyes and imagined himself in Nick's place; Sara's lithe form responding to Grissom's touch rather than Nick's, it was wholly unsatisfying. And empty apartment mocked him for hours before he fell asleep, his dreams invaded by what he'd witnessed that shift. Of Sara. Of Sara with Nick.

The next shift he'd paired Nick off with Catherine, Sara with Warrick, satisfied that they were, at least, working separate cases while he retreated into his office to convince himself what he'd seen was a fluke. That Sara and Nick were…a mistake. That it'd been a one time thing only. That they'd realize it wouldn't work, and stop.

It wouldn't work, Grissom though sadly, because he didn't want it to.

But even after running through a dozen scenarios, explaining it wasn't what it'd looked like to the fetal pig floating in a jar on his desk, who insisted to Grissom that maybe Sara and Nick were just plain in love, he didn't believe a word of it. He couldn't convince himself that it hadn't happened, and that stung him in a way witnessing the interaction hadn't.

He'd meant to catch up with them near the end of shift; to confront them, to watch them, even Grissom himself didn't know why. But he ended up, once again, a silent, invisible observer of a kiss, this one soft and gentle, in the parking lot. Nick had cupped Sara's chin with one hand, guiding her lips towards his own, while her hands seemed content to toy with the small hairs at the nape of his neck.

Grissom sighed. So much for the "one-time thing only" theory.

That night, some part of his brain registered that he'd been selfish. Selfish to lead Sara on with a plant or a touch or a look. Selfish to think she'd wait for him forever; pine away while he held her at arms length. Selfish for always expecting her to be ready for a case; to come when he called, forget that it had been _he _who'd told her to get a life.

But the bigger part, the majority of his brain which was being drowned with burning whiskey, quickly stifled that train of though. Selfish? Hadn't it been _him_ who'd gotten her a job at the number two lab in the country? Hadn't it been _him_ who'd provided her a mentor?

The alcohol did nothing to help him; Grissom woke the next morning with the beginnings of a brutal migraine, and a whisper echoing in his head:

"_Too late, too late. By the time you figure things out…"_

Her voice crashed against the confines of his skull, causing him to wince.

And his own voice, too:

"_I don't know what to do about this"_

"_I do"_ she chided, her voice a ghost in his head.

"_The lab needs you"_

"_Great…"_

And a tormented Grissom completed the next few shifts replaying every dialogue they'd had; a habit which caused him no end of pain, but was something he couldn't stop.

He was torturing himself.

And it didn't help that it seemed to have become public knowledge that Sara and Nick had become involved. Warrick goaded the both of them about it every chance he got, earning any number of blushes and mock angry glares from the two. Catherine couldn't help but coo over the "magic of a new romance", finding (or inventing) no end of excuses to get the two in the same room. Brass had acted like a protective father, asking the pair with a wink if they needed to have "the talk". Even Greg had eventually warmed up to the idea, telling Sara if things didn't work out, he'd be happy to be the "trademark wild night of rebound sex". Grissom was the only one who seemed to have a problem with it.

Watching them, catching them together, had become a regular occurrence around the lab. Coffee breaks spent together cuddled on the couch; compromising moments in the locker room which always elicited a remark or two from Warrick before he walked out, joking he didn't need to be scarred with such images.

And so, over the next few months, Grissom effectively ruled out the "realize it was a mistake" theory.

It had become a routine, Grissom reflected sadly; to see them together was expected. Sara's strictly professional attitude with him, Nick's regarding him a bit stiffly, was now the norm (and Grissom couldn't blame him. He supposed interacting with the man who was in love with your girlfriend was uncomfortable, and didn't allow for the mentor/student relationship they'd once shared). The (not so) subtle whispers of "he's still in love with Sara" that followed him down the halls, Catherine getting fed up with him and telling him one day that "it was his own damn fault"…it was all regular. Almost a tradition.

Just as was Grissom's going home each night, wishing that he'd wake up the next morning to find out this whole disaster had been a horrible nightmare.

But every morning he'd open his eyes.

No such luck.

A/N: Don't hate me for being so mean to Grissom :D He can take it, right? Right? Anyways, drop me a review and let me know what you think.


	2. Nightmare

Title: This Disaster

Disclaimer: It's not mine, and barring a Christmas miracle, it never will be.

Spoilers: Indirect references to some of the relationship bumps up to about season 4, I think. Nothing major. So just pretend this takes place during/after the fourth season.

A/N: I actually meant this to be a one-shot but forgot to write that in the summary. And since people liked it, I decided to continue. This chapter is a different style than the first, I think. I still personally like the first one better. So consider this a sequel. I'm still not sure if there'll be another chapter after this. If so it will probably take a bit longer than usual to update. Three, maybe four days minimum. Probably. Ok, fine, you caught me. I really don't know. But if I do I'll try to make it quick. No promises.

"Grissom"

This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening.

"Grissom…"

This was a nightmare. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening.

An exasperated sigh. "**Grissom!** Will you pull your head out of your ass for just one damn second?"

His office was a cave, musty and dark. He could almost see the anger radiating off of her in the dim light; a red so bright he'd closed his eyes.

"What do you want, Catherine?" he mumbled like the tired old man he was.

The blonde bit the inside of her lip, frustrated. No matter how much she wished it otherwise, the man sitting in Grissom's chair behind Grissom's desk in Grissom's office simply was not Grissom. The real Grissom disappeared months ago. This imposter, no matter how many times he rubbed his temples in the exact manner Grissom always did, wasn't him. The beaten, ancient, weak man before her just wasn't Grissom, and hadn't been since Nick and Sara.

And that made her so angry with him, because it wasn't _their_ fault.

Catherine crossed her arms defiantly across her chest, her voice laced with disdain as she spoke. "What the hell was that about?"

Grissom sighed inwardly, propping his forehead against his palm, letting his head sink into his hands. His answer would just irritate her. He knew. It was only because he derived some sick pleasure from causing someone _else_ to feel his anguish did he look up, lifeless eyes pouring into hers:

"What?"

"Are you kidding yourself, Grissom? Back in the break room…what the hell were you thinking? Do you actually wantthe rest of the team to think of you as the supervisor-turned-jackass? This is _their_ day, Grissom. Can't you just be happy for them for one goddamned second instead of moping around and punishing them for your mistake?"

"Catherine, I…"

"Jesus, Grissom" she continued, as if he'd never spoke, her voice soft and almost comforting, making her words that more potent. "They're getting married. And whether you want it to be or not, that's a good thing."

Grissom remained silent, watching Catherine's anger deflate as she looked at him. He knew what she saw: a man who was old and bitter. A man who was tearing himself apart. A man who was sinking, trying desperately to drag anyone he could down with him.

Pitiful.

Her next words blew him over:

"You had your chance. Why can't you just let them have theirs?"

Stubbornly, Grissom refused to meet her eye, putting all of is effort into showing no outward signs her comment had affected him.

Inside he was collapsing.

This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening.

Shift had ended five minutes ago. Nick told everyone to meet in the break room. "There's something I want to tell you guys" he'd explained, his face stretched into a broad smile. A smile Grissom had seen before, pressed into Sara's.

They'd assembled in the break room, Greg, Warrick, and Catherine opting to take seats at the table. Brass hovered by the coffee pot, nursing a steaming mug. Grissom stood near the doorway, separate from the rest of the group. Nick and Sara sat together, on the couch.

And once again, Grissom couldn't tear his eyes away. The way Sara leaned into him, legs tucked comfortably under her. The way Nick draped an arm around her shoulders, fingers trailing lightly up and down her arm. The way they looked together; the way they looked at each other. All engraved into his memory. One more moment when it wasn't him. One more part of his heart that stopped beating.

He wasn't hearing what Nick was talking about. But he came crashing back to reality when he heard Nick say,

"…and I finally asked Sara to marry me."

Grissom panicked. This wasn't…

"And I said 'yes'." Her voice so happy it hurt.

…happening.

There was a moment, before Warrick grinned, patted Nick on the back, and offered his congratulations. Before Brass teared up when Sara asked timidly if he'd please walk her down the isle. Before Catherine gushed over the pair, asking to see the ring, and before Greg pulled Sara into an impromptu hug, genuinely happy for the two. Before all that, there was this moment when Nick and Sara looked at each other.

And Sara smiled.

Grissom's mouth went dry with the bitter taste of bile. That smile; her gap-toothed, full-on, 100-watt smile. As sincere and as real as the ring on her finger. The kind she used to share with him, only him. And images came flooding back:

Sara, fresh form San Francisco, laughing as he dropped dummies off a roof.

Sara, with blankets and coffee, sitting next to him to watch a decomposing pig.

Sara, on the sidewalk after the explosion cradling her hand.

Sara, pinned between him and a bloody sheet.

And that smile.

This wasn't happening.

How could she share that smile, _his_ smile, with Nick?

The silence in the room clued Grissom in; six pairs of eyes were trained on him. After all, congratulations were in order, were they not?

He cleared his throat and spoke, the jealously, the bitterness, the venom, all clear and unmistakable in his voice: "The ring will tear through our latex gloves. I trust you'll remove it before coming to work."

And he turned and left, holing up in his office, coping the only way he knew how.

By ignoring.

And Catherine now stood in his office, dealing with it the only way _she_ knew how.

By confronting.

He sighed heavily. "Catherine…"

"Forget it, Gil" she shook her head sadly, walking out of the room. "Just…forget it."

He heard her walk back down the hall to the break room; he heard them talking, laughing.

Nightmare. Nightmare.

This wasn't happening.

A/N: I'm partial to the first chapter more… but what do you guys think? Let me know.


	3. Confessions

Title: This Disaster

Disclaimer: Still Not Mine.

Spoilers: Indirect references to some of the relationship bumps up to about season 4, I think. Nothing major. More like this takes place sometime during/after the fourth season.

A/N: This is the final sequel-ish chapter. I think it's my second favorite, after, of course, the first.

She was exquisite. A fragile head, paleish complexion like those of her parents, tiny fists clenching and unclenching, chubby arms pumping in the air in attempts to grasp the wiggling fingers offered her. She had her father's brown eyes, now lit up with excitement, and her mother's smile. He assumed she'd grow to inherit her mother's auburn curls, a crop of hair already adorning her head. This tiny little thing…she'd grow to be breathtakingly stunning.

Like her mother.

In Grissom's opinion, Sara never looked more beautiful than she did now; stray wisps of hair plastered to her face, tired and smiling in a generic hospital gown, holding her baby girl.

He could only assume Nick agreed' he wore the biggest smile Grissom had ever seen, kissing Sara happily between holding the infant, making soft "baby noises".

Catherine and Lindsey were there, too; while Catherine was wide-eyed looking at the baby and laughing softly with Sara, her daughter had fallen asleep after seeing the baby, now slumped peacefully on a chair. Warrick and Greg had shown up, standing at the foot of Sara's bed, talking and laughing about the recent exploits she'd missed at the lab. Even Brass had stopped by, receiving a long, tearful hug from Sara before he'd been handed the baby girl. His face broke into a smile almost as big as Nick's when the couple asked him to be godfather. And everyone laughed when Greg had made a crack in a thick (and butchered) Italian accent.

But now it was quiet, and everyone was content to chat softly, basking in the glow of Nick and Sara and their daughter.

Except Grissom.

He stood in the hallway, out of their sight, but at an angle to the room where he could still peer inside should he want to.

And part of him wanted to.

But the part of him that remembered his conversation with Nick three or so months ago didn't.

It'd been a long night; the whole shift was pulling doubles except for Nick and Warrick, who'd finished their case earlier. Catherine, Sara, even Greg had stayed for another shift with him. And they'd solved the case that night. But some of his crew went home looking more tired than others.

The next day after shift, Nick asked to see him in his office. Grissom agreed, and they walked to his office in awkward silence. Grissom was a bit surprised when he took a seat behind his desk, but Nick made no move to sit in one of the available chairs.

"Stop asking Sara to work overtime."

Grissom looked confused. "What?"

"She'll stay because you ask her to, but she shouldn't be, so stop asking" Nick explained, his face void of any emotions.

"Why?" Grissom asked in an infuriatingly calm voice.

Nick's mouth spread into a wide grin, which caught Grissom by surprise, although it was Nick's confession that floored him:

"Because she's pregnant."

"Oh" was all he managed to choke out as he tried to process; Nick. And Sara. And their child? How could he have missed this? She defiantly wasn't showing. "Nick…"

Nick put up a hand to stop him from continuing, before talking a deep breath and speaking:

"Look, Grissom. I appreciate everything you've done for me. Since I moved here you've been like a father to me. A mentor. And I want you to know that I really, _truly_ appreciate that. I appreciate _some_ of the things you've done for Sara. But not everything. Because she loved you and you hurt her. And it took a lot for her to get over that, Gris. But she did. We did."

Nick stopped and took another short breath, seeming to steel himself for something before he continued:

"We're married now, Grissom, and there can only be two people involved. Me and Sara. I love her more than anything, and she loves me. And we're happy. But I've seen the way you look at her, and the way you look at me when I look at her. And it looks like…I need to know if you still have feelings for Sara."

Nick sighed inwardly, crossing his arms self-consciously across his chest as he watched his supervisor.

Grissom let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He couldn't look at Nick, (how could Grissom tell him, the father of Sara's child, that he was right?) instead focusing on a generic black pen resting on his desk.

"I thought so" Nick spoke softly, interrupting Grissom's thoughts. "But if you tell her now, you'll hurt her worse than you already have. And it won't change anything for you, because we've already talked about this…"

Nick looked at his boss for a fleeting movement before he finished, resigning himself not to flinch as his next words spilled out of him, "If you really love her, then just…stop asking her to work overtime."

An uncomfortable silence filled the room as the two men looked at each other, before Grissom lowered his head in defeat, staring fixedly at his lap.

"Fine."

Nick visibly relaxed at this, and began to walk out the door. His hand hovered over the doorknob when Grissom said, "And Nick?"

"Yeah?"

"Congratulations."

Nick nodded his head. "Thanks, Gris" he said, before he walked out the door, shutting it carefully behind him.

Grissom had told Sara the next day that she was maxed out on overtime. She wouldn't be hanging around the lab after her shift ended anymore. To his surprise, Sara agreed, seeming somewhat relieved.

And now she was a mother; a radiant, beautiful mother.

And Nick was a father; an absolutely ecstatic and proud father, holding his daughter as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

And their baby was a bundle of pink blankets and soft gurgling sounds.

They were…a family.

And Grissom just watched it all, without realizing he was content, finally content, to let it be theirs. Just theirs.

A/N: So what do you guys think?


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